


Oh, Jack.

by MyDaedricGravemind



Category: Assassin's Creed Post Syndicate Jack the Ripper DLC
Genre: Elaborations, Jack sympathizing, Jack the Lad Character Study, Jack the Ripper Character Study, Jack/Jack's Mother Relationship Study, Jack/Jacob Relationship Study, May be Deep and Dark, Sad, THIS WORK IS NOT ABANDONED-PLOTTING AND EDITTING
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-05-18 00:29:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5891065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyDaedricGravemind/pseuds/MyDaedricGravemind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one has anything on Jack the Lad, when he's young...a lad.</p><p>With this I change that and hope to bring to light his unfortunate darkness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Lad

 

 

He is six years old.

Jack runs up to a flock of pigeons screaming out his little lungs and waving his arms, chasing them into the sky. He stomps in puddles along the cobble way and laughs at the barking dogs in his neighbor alley. He swats at falling leaves and kisses chipped step stones before skipping them across Lambeth park's fountain. He whoops loudly, throwing his fist upward. "Four who'e skips! Bli'gh!"

Jack is young. Life is good.

-

Winter is gentle that year, and today his mother plays with him in the snow.

He knows no father, only the gentle embrace of her soft arms, like this winter's white kiss. He is sturdy and innocent while his mother is lean and careful. Her hair is brown and thick, it tumbles like a carpet over her shoulders and clothes her deep spined back. He likes to bury his face in it when they sleep. She is not young nor is she old, but he knows no sweeter thing, nothing more beautiful.

She smiles and tosses him laughing into the snow.

-

When all melts away, they pick flowers together and grow a few greens in their backyard. He picks apples from the park and spits the seeds everywhere dirt shows. Mother says it spreads the trees children and in turn they will grow to feed mans children. He loves his mother. She loves everyone and thing. Hugging her tightly he swears he loves them too.

-

Jack met some boys in the street who teased at his patched jacket. "M'um?" He mutters over his elbows while she listens, stitching the newsboy's overcoat.

"Why do they ca' me stree'rag?"

She pulls her stitch tight. "It is a'l they see. The call you wha' they see from you."

His head flops over to rest sideways on his arm as he puzzles her words.

"Wha'..?"

She smiles sweetly. "All they see is a street-rag. You look li'ke a dirty laundry piece."

His nose scrunches up. "Do no't."

"Mhm.."

"Nah-"

She pauses long enough to tap his nose. "Mhm." Settleing it. "No'w com an learn a trade, dove."

He trudges over where she made room on her lap for him. Once seated, she starts rocking and humming, he threads her needle and ties her knots while she works.

The coat, almost finished, will buy them supper.

-

He grows over the summer like a weed. By July he is as tall as seven and half year olds, but skinnier then he aught to be by his age. His mother saved up and buys two chickens, that feed them eggs.

Life is good.

-

Jack brings cool water from the fountain for mother. The August heat has her ill and tired, keeping the greens is hard because the grass dont stop growing; tryin' to choke em out, mum says. He keeps her inside and weeds out himself. It's hot but he likes it as she stitches some damsel's drapery and drinks the water he brought her. She tells him how dear he is to her and how strong he will become.

He wonders if he looks like his father...

-

The greens barely grew enough for them to eat, nothing to sell. The sun burned some brown and an early chiller browned the rest. October was going to be cold they said and those boys on the street wondered if his rags would keep him warm or if they would get to stick a carrot in his face the first snowfall. He kicks at them.

-

It was cold. Jack brought two stray cats into their little house to warm his mother's lap as she stitched. She fed them with mice she lured with a handfull of oats. An egg and cross bun was their own meager meal, and afterwards he sat by the fire with her. They stitched together. She said better twelve fingers danced then six, it made the cloth fly like magic. He wondered how she always thought so well of everything.

She answered. "All is we'l, if we see i't we'l, Jack. Wha' you see, is how you chose to see i't."

He never forgot that lesson

-

February came.

Their fuel was scarce but they would make it she said. Their landlord wanted this month's pay but mother convinced him to wait another fortnight. He grumbled of them. "Pesky pair O vagrants..."

Jack didn't like him.

-

The cats snuggle with them at night, Jack loved them. They kept him warm so he could keep his mother warm. They all helped each other help each other, by day and night. Jack listened to them purr and felt every drawn breath of his mother's. She held him tightly and breathed deeply. He knew he was safe. He would always be, with her.

-

They had to move to another house, it was smaller, in a different alley way. It was near a graveyard and his cats didnt like it. But mother said at least it would be easier to warm, it was all she could do. There was a tear in her eye as she tryed to smile. Jack squeezed his fist and swore to grow quickly.

-

The market man took their chickens that spring. Mother now had more seeds to grow and promised he would not be so skinny for long.

She surprised him with a birthday present, a caramel. She said a magician pulled it out of a hat and that it tastes like butter and gold.

He is seven years old.

Jack sells newspapers and a penny a day is his rich reward. He is going to buy a hair ribbon for his mother. Her hair will fold around it like silk. He skips and whistles at the thought, his mother is the most beautiful lady alive!

-

His mother was arguing with the landlord that evening. He touches her shoulder and she slaps him away, ordering Jack upstairs. Jack feels a little angry and scared. he doesnt like the man.

-

Mother tends the garden. She begins before the harsh sun has woken, she trys to rise without waking Jack but she cannot, he clings to her.

She has not smiled since the landlord spoke that night. Why?

-

Jack can't sleep so he whispers.

"Motha?"

She is quiet.

"Mum-?"

Tired. "Ai?"

"A'r you alri'?"

She scolds. "You should be dreaming. Why ar'nt you?"

Jack answers with a question.

"Why can'tya sleep?" He watches her closley.

She sighs. "..ugh-Jack....theres just a li'l bit of the world you do'n know abou' yet, and it's go't me thinkin too mu'ch again."

His face scrunches again trying to understand, his pale blue eyes roving her tired face in the moonlight. "Li'ke wha'?" She closes her eyes and sighs again.

He searches her silent face. "Mum-?"

"Shh-dove. Sleep now."

He doesnt. She doesnt either.

-

It is June and they have a good crop, the cats are fat on city scrapes. Jack doesnt like the people here, he misses their old home but doesnt complain. They are dark and hard, he does not like their looks or harsh words. The painted women wink at him and the dirty men shove him about and curse at him when he runs by. Mother only comes out to garden, she does not go to market anymore.

Jack works hard, he runs letters and sells newspapers, he brushes and leads horses.

-

Mother was reluctant to wear the ribbon he finally bought her. She said it was too pretty- and that an angel might steal her away if she should she wear it. Jack shakes his head and stomps a foot, he wanted her to wear it after so long dreaming. She braides it into her locks with his approval.

Their landlord agrees it is lovely...

-

The August heat is too much for mother again so Jack stays at home to water and weed. There is no one who wishes mended garments, so mother is looking for work as a maid.

The Assylum is looking for floor scrubbers and window washers. Jack does not like the cold building that his mother is forced to work in, but mother says all is well.

If she sees it so, it must be.

-

Mother's new work pays the rent. The landlord seems displeased when he receives his pay, Jack wonders why. Mother finally smiles again. Jack wonders even more.

The money Jack makes, mother tells him to save away. It might buy a book to teach him his letters. Or it could buy them firewood in the winter.

She showed him a little shoe box to tuck the pennies in.

His little lips screw sideways. "Li'ke squirre'ls..?"

She chuckles. "Yes. Li'ke squirrels, my dove."

Jack holds his breath and puffs out his cheeks. Mother laughs.

-

_The winters will come to grow only harder and colder. Jack discovers how all things are not lovable, and his innocence begins to fall away like dying, wilted petals..._


	2. Young Roots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Threads of why's.

 

 

-

September sold their few beautiful crops, they stored every shilling away.

Men come to ask business of mother. When Jack asked them what they want, they only scoffed at him, calling him foul names. He learns many new words that way, they shock rude adults and he uses them.

Mother doesnt answer the door anymore. She speaks of moving again.

He sighs. "To whe're..?"

She thinks a moment, stirring her tea. "I have'nt thought too ha'rd on it. Southpa'rk, pe'rhaps..."

Jack measures with his mind and hands. "Tha'ts aw'ful fa' away, mum."

She teases him lightly. "Plenty of time fo' you to pack then..."

"Agh-mum..."

She doesnt ever tell him what the men wanted.

-

The landlord was watching her the last day she gardened. He was wringing at his hankerchief as she labored to prepare it for the next spring.

Jack felt scared because he wanted to hurt the man so badly and still didnt know why...

-

It is the first of October and everything was growing meaner.

Blighter gang men cornered Jack, they roughed him up, tearing his clothes and stole his pocket of pennies. He fought and tryed to get them back but they laughed, joking about throwing him into the factory or loonie-house for meat then whipping him good, let him get away. He came home to mother and would have tryed to hide the marks but didnt have to; she had had another argument with the landlord and was deeply daydreaming into the fire, pale faced making a deciscion as to what to do.

He stood in the open doorway, the cold wind frosting her breath. "Jack..?" She asked him softly, staring into the fireplace.

He stands a moment longer before closing and bolting the door. He walks up and buries his face in her back, itching his red nose in  
the ends of her hair.

"Jack, dove-"

It hurts him inside the way she begs his name. What had happened?

"-whatever I te'l you to do, from now on, you must-" She takes a breath. "You must do, Jack... _Wi'l_ you? Do you promise me?"

He squeezes her tighter.

She has her answer.

-

November strikes and early winter and their fuel is twice the cost of last years. The Assylum no longer needs his mother and so she has no work, Jack's pennies now buy their bread and the saved crop-coin pays the rent; the money wont even make it to the end of the year.

The landlord looks _pleased_ as he collects the reluctant pence week by week. He must _pity_ them, he smiles and brings them a bit of meat.

Mother's face is pinched with...sadness... _anger?_

He glares at the landlord. Jack hates him, for what, he does not yet know.

-

The cats didn't come back from outside that night, and the next morning he found one in the stable, squashed flat by a sleeping horse. The other he never sees again. His mother holds him while he cries.

Only him and his mother now.

-

Its two days before Christmas and the streets are teeming with bodies before the storm hits. Puffing horses drawing slieghs of wood to eager houses, chimney sweeps were at work, Blighters roaming and drunks bellering carols perversly.The noise and ruckus is loud, biting the air bitterly.

Jack hates it all.

He comes home shivering terribly that night in his tattered coat and scarf. As mother puts on the last of their wood, she says that the landlord offered them supper. Jack knows they have no bread.

He scowls, not at her, but at the thought of a meal with _that man_ and why. Sick of the whispers and these secrets about his mother.

"Wha' is it, mum?" He asks harshly. "Wha' does he wa'nt of us? Of _you_." His fists are squeezed tight, he rocks back and forth on stiff legs.

She looks down briefly, then beckons him.

He huffs but stays.

"Come _here_ , Jack."

He shakes his head.

"Jack, you _promised me_ , to do as told-"

He beats at his numb legs, taking only a single step.

"Jack- right _now-!"_ Her voice breaks at the last, a tear falls, her hand outstretched for him. He chokes and rushes into it, gripping her tightly. His stomach at that moment rumbles loudly, painfully hollow and both son and mother cry. She promises they will be warm tonight-if only he'll  do as she says.

Jack nods against her with eyes squeezed shut and promises.

She kisses his brow and after their eyes are dry, then takes him to supper.

-

She has him lie under the bed and clap his hands over his ears. She told him not to unstop them until he saw her dangle her ribbon  
over the edge-and only then-he could come up and snuggle with her...

With _them_.

His head was empty and so stiff after waiting so long, that when he finally saw the ribbon it took a bit for him to come out. When he  
did it was clumsy and loud, _someone_ complained of the noise.

His mother shushed the man harshly, tenderly tucking Jack close.

A new nightly routine had begun; the landlord now kept his mother warm and she in turn kept Jack warm. Although he didnt see or  
hear what he had missed...he knew in his gut what was happening...

Life was not good to them anymore.

-

Now there is always work to be done, everyone needs help. Jack chops and hauls wood, shines shoes, shovels stables and breaks water- Anything. He's trying to save his few pennies, he works long and hard and often late. He doesnt like to go back home anymore...

Every night is the same.

Jack grows used to the long stiffness and cold wait. And when his ears keep unstopping from shivering too long, he grows used to the sounds too...

He hates it. He hates it all.

-

Jack's days longer and harder. Working too hard, he sweats in the cold and grows chilled.

He doesnt care.

He needs the pennies for him and his mother and the time it gives him away from the little house. She relies on him, because there's no more work for her.

He steals food. He got whipped for it once but didnt get caught after that. He is smart and uses people or animals for distractions then takes a loaf or roast. Mother never asks where they come from, she simply makes a soup or hash.

They eat. Then she holds him. He has grown hard and quiet. So has she.

-

January.

A sudden thaw came before a violent storm blew, and the streets were slicked with ice. Horses slipped and carraiges could not gain ground but stopped up whole intersections. Few were on the blustery streets now, only Jack shuffling home alone with his hands deep in his pockets. He shoulders were hugging his ears and he sniffled with a cold, his steps slipping now and then in the froze slosh and ice.

Brothels and pubs were full and bolsterous, crowds pressing out the open doors where hot fires crackled and foaming pints clinked. Jack stopped before 'Little Cherries', a corner brothel, and listened. Watched.

Men hovered over women and who giggled and whispered, while some men were fighting over the same girl and others sloshed about brimming pints; other girls cheered on the fighters. One couple in particular were outside against the corner of the alley, engaging each other intimately.

Jack shivered, from cold and the creeping, tingling feelings he felt inside as he watched them...he couldn't stop.

He wondered if mother looks like that-she sounds like that at night, and the man does too-Is this what they do and are doing while he waits? His young mind found the word for it-so common on the street now.

Were they 'whoring'?

He scowled at the word and its meaning. Did that make his mother...a 'street dollie'?

He huffed, not knowing what to think of that thought. It made him fill up with twisting strange feelings he didnt like, they made him feel confused, sad and cross so he just stopped thinking.

The couple was moving deeper into the alley.

And Jack watched...

-

His mother notices the difference in Jack and the way he looks at her, but doesnt say anything, perhaps she doesnt know what to say. So she says she loves him and he loves her, they are both doing hard things for each other but come spring it will be _warm_ and different. Just her and him like always.

Pale eyes blink twice. "Just us-You' pro'mise?"

"Ai, dove, I do'."

The landlord comes in and smiles at her, ignoring Jack. Mother looks away pulling her son close.

The man doesnt ask for the rent anymore.

-

The first of March, and the sun is bright. Mother gives Jack a silver neckace. She says for Jack to take it to market and bring back what it brings. Jack asks where she got it. She doesnt answer. He asks if they will use the pence to move to Southpark. She says she's still trying to find where would be best for them.

Jack mumbles. "..anywhe're but he're..." Mother grips him suddenly in a strong hug and crushes him close.

They are both lean and hungry and tired and cold, and they both know it.

"Jack?" She asks forcing cheer. "Let us w'alk the pa'rk."

Jack eyes her seriously. His eyes have very little child left in them now.

She takes his shoulders and shakes them side to side sweetly. "Sing dove. Would you not walk with your mother?"

She was seeing things with a different eye again, as if all were still good.

Jack was stiff beneath her hands. "You should' no't come out. It's no't _safe_ fo' you."

She leads him towards the door. "Come, Jack."

"Mum-"

"-Only a short while, dove. Now come." She pulls on her shawl and loops his scarf about his neck, he watches her with eyes begging.

"I'll do'it, mum, ple'ase le' me..." He didnt want her to leave the "safty" of the house.

"We'll go together..." His mother opened the door and looped the shawl's ends over her head like a hood. Jack didnt argue further.

They walked down the cobble lane and crossed the muddy street. She chose to cross through one of WhiteChapel's park on the way, the dead grass showing in patches giving hope that winter was to end soon.

They walked next to each other quietly. It was nice.

Jack kept a good look out for anyone and pushed against his mother to guide her down an alternate path or two to make sure they didn't encounter anyone. She hung her arm on his shoulders, as if to shelter him, comfort him and ease the rigid posture he had adopted through the long winter.

He kept careful sight but today their was no one. Just them. The sights and fresh spring air made her sigh deeply, refreshed. Jack promised to himself he would bring her out more. He squeezed her hand which made her look down at him and smile.

He smiled too, it was small and sad, but a smile at non-the-less...

 

-

 


	3. Faults

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Growing and plotting. 
> 
> Young Jack is learning hard lessons and growing from them, but growing for good or bad..?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have yet to correct a few things-I checked back and Jack was born and raised in WhiteChapel, not Lambeth. I'll clear that up soon, my appologies for any contradictions or inconsistancys.

 

-

 

His birthday had now come and gone. Eight year old, he looks only six from the harsh winters and poor food, his present; he wanted to sleep alone with his mum that night, the man aquiesced grudgedly.

She now knew that Jack knew what they did and do, one day he asked why he still has stay under the bed. He told her what he watched and with great sadness mother says for him to never watch that sort again.

He twists back and forth on his feet and asks instead if she likes it and why? Mother has him come to the rocker and has him sit on her lap as they used to. There she explains that men and women are ment to like it but are not to like it too much. If they like it too much it can turn them into unmannered animals or worse...

Jack sees the ribbon she wears in her hair and remembers the man's smile. He asks if its because he bought it and made her wear it that the man wanted to _doll_ with her.

Her eyes are sad but she says no, that is not why. He and her had talked about it for months and that she wouldnt if they had the pence to pay the rent. She said it was because he was cold and lonely and if he didnt have wood or pence then he wanted company at night. He almost prefered this payment to pence but he would take it if they had it instead.

Jack twists at her hair as it decorates her breast and mumbles- if they had the pennies, would she not whor' with him then?

His mother gently weeps then gathers him tightly in her arms. His chest pressed to her beating heart, he grips her tightly and promises to get the coin. She is quiet and only rocks him back and forth.

_He is impressed with the lesson of desparation. How it breeds terrible things and practices in folk and makes them suffer and in turn they cause suffering. Who can stop it? Who has the power or responsibility? How can you stop it?_

_His mind can only wonder._

 

-

 

People speak often of the wretched conditions of The City of Light and how grand it once was. But with the descent into chaos and the roar of industry, much is demanded of the poor people to meet the demands of those in power and blood. A new gang rose up, called 'Clinkers', and they challenge the rule of the Blighters. Both gangs now face off where ever they meet, poor bystanders catching stray bullets fired into the sidelines. It is even worse off in the lesser districts-they paint streets red with blood and bile in matches of club and machette, beer bottle and kitchen knife when cornered.

Jack makes his way carefully through one of the quieter of the makeshift markets along the way, swiping an shrunken apple from a granny stand for his breakfast. No one saw his filthy, clipping fingers as he has gotten very deft with much practice dipping pockets. He takes a hungery bite from the old shrivled fruit, frosted but only sweeter and softer for his tender mouth after a long cold winter. He gulps another bite, almost choking when he freezes, hearing a screaming horse-just before he sees it dragging a battered carriage, both rushing around the street corner. He darts to a side stand and scrambles under the wooden set up, having no wheres else to go.

Watching with bulged eyes, Jack sees it as it tears right by him, just missing the little market set up, frightening the poor granny out of her wits. Another, unfortunatly, follows close behind the first and fireing poorly aimed shots at its targets, and far less careful then the first, it barrels right down the markets middle!

Jack covered his ears and curled up tight, wood splintered and people screamed. The gangmen didnt even give a second thought to the destruction, just bellered and wooped at the the wrecked Clinker stud cart dying to escape them with as they mercilessly presued it with all manner of devilish chaos. Then just as sudden as they were to appear, just as suddenly it was all over and even those horrid sounds faded.

The boy uncovered his head and ears carefully, his face white, terrified, his limbs trembling in the packed snow as he listened to the wails of those trappled beneath hoof and wheel. He lay there and listened to them, shaking, and heard someone scream with outrage, demanding to anyone stop this barbaric madness. Jack's eyes were wide with terror as he uncurled and hurridly crawled out of his refuge to escape the sounds. He staggered up then beheld the ruin and bodies of the market goers, red and dirt on the white flakes, spoils strewn everywhere.

Shaking awefully, he ran away as well as he could, trying to escape the crys of those suffering...

 

-

 

 

More gang happenings like that happened, the whole of Whitechapel moaning the sufferings and began to complain of the ruin to business and the safty of the city folk but no one listened. The constibles told all to shove it or sod on, leaving them all to grumble under their breath and debate to solutions.

Jack avoided everyone as best he could because lately, he overheard, even the street children were even beginning to dissapear...the city was only growing worse and worse.

 

-

 

April.

 

"-You li'le prick-fithy pick pocke'! Come back wi' my coin!"

 

Jack stomped on the man's foot then bolted away as fast as he could and slipped between carriages and coaches. The stiff man tried to chase him but he didnt stop running. He wouldn't stop till he wanted to and that wasnt until he reached the fountain park.  
He threaded streets and alleys ducking under any who tryed to clutch at him and climbed the rickety fences to escape the throngs of homeless and poor till he reached the fountain. The man left far behind, Jack, exhausted, splashed his face with the ice water. He laughed, grinning then stuffed the purse in the waist of his patchy pants.  
No dolling with his mum tonight...

 

_Necessity had bred a cunning little animal out of the lad. He would do anything for himself and his mother, as loyal as a cub. He was quick witted though his education suffered from the slum that he was reared in so he had few means to change that. He could not write, could not read, with his thick, broken accent, all immediatly believed to belong to a thick, stupid skull when in fact young Jack was quite the opposite..._

 

-

 

Jack saw the pubs and its people and it's practices regularily now because he was driven from honest work, all the children without parents at side were dragged by wrist or hair to one of the cotton or iron factorys for labor. Any who harbored them were visited by a Blighter trio...Jack was left doing odd jobs now.

 

He delivered messages that had to be taken inside and delivered in person, he somtimes had a picture to go by but usually an address sufficed. He dipped his ragged cap and ducked inside...

 

  _His childhood was past, a young adult now, trapped in a scrawny, undernurited body, with which so much was depended on and expected of him, that he was too small, too young to defend himself or her whom he loved above all else. That helplessness, it easily festered an impatience and anger-anger was ever simmering from the flames of fear that constantly cooked at his tender heart; cooking it till brittle and dry...not yet dead._

 

Jack saw in any brothal or sticklier pub how the men grew sick with drink and the girls with cold. They always wore so little and with the early spring chill still in the air, they sniffled and sneezed past red noses and blushed cheeks. He knew that they should not be outside.

 

But they were, they lured the men in...and the men loved it.

 

Frowning, he listened to them-he couldn't help when in their company-and heard their constant cursing and perverse talk.

Jack pushed through their bodies, his little stomach cramped with discomfort as girls cooed at him and tugged at his little jacket asking, wasnt he a little young to play with dolls? Was the poor dear lost? Does he need a pretty mum to walk him home? They giggled, teasing playfully, but the boy blushed with dumb embarrassment then boldly told them he has his own mum and dont need no one else. They laughed and pet his cheeks, they were intoxicated and he was so serious and unchildlike that in their states they perhaps could not help themselves. Their breath smelt of warm, malted ale.

 

"So wha'ts you'r name then, dear?" One of them starts, she squeezes his shoulder gently but her experienced fingers grip him with possession.

He bit the inside of his cheek, uncomfortable and impatient, he huffed out her strong perfume. "..Non o' your business."

She coos. "Oo-come now, deary..."

He didnt like talking to anyone. "I don' wannto."

She gently tugged at his little chin to encourage him but he tugged away hard.

She tsked him, wagging a long painted finger with dissaproval. "-Now you know where they send children with such terrible manners, dont you dear...?" Her left brow lifted, carressing her curled bangs.

He scowled darkly. "Go bladder yo'self, dolly."

"Rotten child!" Her eyes flutter as she laughs such a horrid insult off. "I should whistle to that Bligh'er filth ov' yonder-" She nods to a lounging red coat man, noting Jack's sudden stiffness. "-and I dare say I would deserve the shilling I would get from him for you..."

His jaw chews to the side then puffs out. "..jack."

"Hmm?"

"M'name. I's Jack."

She smiled. "Why hell'o-Jack.."

He stared at her dark painted eyes. "..'ello...can'I go now?"

She ignores his question. "..M'names, Lilly. Pleasure's mine..." She curtseyed down then took a breath and hiccuped lightly just as a man squeezes at her from behind. She squeels...

Jack cringes and turns away , quickly burying himself in the crowd to hide himself from sight and to finally find the mistress of the house. He knows she'll be at the top floor so he doesnt look back, just pushes through the warm bodies to make his way upstairs.

 

There are more girls up here, lounging on sofa's or pressed against the scarlet curtains. A few are cuddling with men on couches, he hears their sighs and moans, making him swallow again.

 

_Jack sees a greed here, a need for things his mother is ashamed to be marked by. He recieves pointed attention and sees and hears things his little body tingles deep inside about that makes him feel queer and cold even in the house's warmth. This place draws the worst men inside and makes them even worse and corrupts the ladies. He has even seen how they hurt the girls some times, so why dont they run away? Are they paying rent like mum? Do they have no other choices? He wonders if they would stop if they had the chance..._

_He remembers Lilly's word about a shilling-maybe all they need is some pence._

 

Jack raps his knuckles on the door's frame and waits for the lady. When she opens the door he sees a man his mother has spoke to before, recognizing the green ribbon wrapped around his top hat's rim as he is sitting in her easy chair. The boy never heard his name as mother would hush him out the door like a secret-or a danger-telling Jack to tell no one. The boy doesnt have time to wonder anything else because the woman asks briskly for his expected note which he gives her. His pale eyes rove the interior and everything, the man hasn't looked up and is twisting his hat's brim in dissapointment and thought. Jack stares, chewing on his lip.

 

"-There." His gaze jerks back to her and she hands him another parchment. "-Take this to the Fletched Hen and give it only to a 'Mr. Griswald', do you understand? Return, and you will recieve your shillings." She presses it into his small hands.

 

He sniffs, nods then turns his back to the room. The door closes and Jack skips down the steps just to get down faster. Voices are raised and he hears a bottle break upon the floor as he pushes through the crowd agian, has to squeeze behind a dollie's skirt to get out the door, just as a shot rings out inside and everyone starts screaming. He bolts away and doesnt stop running.

 

There was a growing malice in his world and his little stomach was always clenched in fear.

 

_Fear. Pain. They are most powerful weapon against the goodness in man._

_The paint and the brush of the devil..._

 

-

 

The streets are filled with more Blighters who are there to make a point as to whose territory it is and who you mess with if you are supporting the Clinkers. The scarlet crooks assail unfortunate travelers and passersby, and the times are growing more often when the poor people are held on their knees at knife point and demanded of coin or service. Jack has to be even more careful about their territories. His walks home are longer and colder but he learns how to wriggle through the rotted board fences and even scrabble over the neighborhood hutches. He is saddend to be reminded of how it feels like he is a cat.

 

Jack shakes from more then cold and as he hurries on. He sighs at the cold moon and fixes it with his sharp scowl, blaming it for everyones ills. He curses at it with his tender voice, his vicious whispers hissing through his clenched, chattering teeth till he is out of breath. He sighs again feeling better after that, and gazes at the dead trees around him, noting the passing clouds in the dark sky.

 

Winter, he is glad, will soon be over...time to prepare for spring.

 

-

 

May. Its now spring.

 

Jack stole papers from the paper man.

He scurried himself around the corner and made quick to the beggers in the alley who wanted to know what was going on but couldnt afford the paper man's prices. He knew where to sell them as quick as possible and so the boy hurried along. Along the way, he wished he knew what the papers said. Walking, he twists the paper around scrunching his eyes up as he peered at the letters hard. Wha' did they mean? How did they make sense and words, all them da'm confusing symbols? He wished he could ask mum but she couldn't read none'neither. He sure wished she could, cuz then she could teach him and then people wouldnt think him a skinny dumb bloke no more...

But he yawned widely, giving up for the moment. Not that he really cared wha' anybo'dy though o' him anyhow. He'd get to it eventually, just not now, not today.

 

-

 

He comes home for dinner because mother has demanded it of the landlord for her 'generous' payments and he has little choice now but to conscede in that much. After it is growing warm outside and his warmth is not so direly needed...

They sit together for their soup and biscuit. The man has left for 'business'.

He is messy, scooping the broth with his spoon as if it were a shovel, but soon even that is too slow, so Jack grasps the bowl and pulls it fiercly to his mouth, his throat open as he drinks more then gulps his soup down. His mother watches her son sadly, but a smile of love curves her pale lips.

She waits till he has licked up the drops before speaking. "Jack, dove..."

He sniffs after his pale eyes rose to her's. Her eyes are a warm brown-oh how he loves her.

"Wha' mum?"

She pushes her bowl towards him. "I wish you to stay with me fo' the day, Ive somthing to ask of you.."

His eyes deepen with worry. "..like wha'?" He sees the lines in her face and the tight chesnut bun she has worn since yesterday. He sees the furrow lines in her forehead and the edges of her collar bone as she breathes so softly. He swallows, his eyes falling to the bowl she gives him. He reaches for it then pauses, his little face crumpling with his gripping, wretched wants-the want to eat all the food in sight and the want to see her eat too. He scowls seeing how tired and worn she is and feels rot about wanting to eat all her food too. He growls before shoving it back to her as if she were stupid to give it to him or how greedy she makes him look to eat more then her.

It spills a little on the table where they both stare at it in silence...Jack folds his arms on the table and burrows his face into the shelter, his sniffles muffled a little.

His mother rises swiftly, leans down and gently sucks the broth from the table then stokes the fireplace. She takes a patched blanket, draping it over his little shoulders before she scoops him up to cuddle him to her bosom.

Jack fights it and the tears he is trying to hide but she has non of it and quickly hushes him with the tenderest authority. He surrenders to her and lay limp in her arms. She settles with a sigh into their sweet ol' rocker chair.

Rocking soothingly, she begins to murmer into his dirty, matted hair.

"Dove, everything we ha've don' was somthing we had to do, or have to keep doing-you must understand this. It is fo' us to test our strength and make us stronger-and we must never give up-no matter how life tortures us..."

How can she still be so? After the cold, the hunger-everything..? Her son clings to her as tight as a suckling babe, his ears and heart wide and unguarded. Her lessons are not wasted.

"-Life is a cruel little god who plays with all as puppets. But it is our strenth of spirit inside that decides if he wins at his game or loses. Do you understand me, dear?"

Jack sighs against her, listening. They had not had such time together and he felt as if the world disapeared behind her arms.

"..mhm.." He answered, wanting to her to keep going.

She pecks his brow with her lips, mumbling into his dirty hair. "-thats m'dove. M'dear little dove..." She hums and rocks him then even softly sings for a while.

He sighs content. "..jus'the two o'us?" The answer is always yes...

Mother squeezes him tighter. "Dear dove, we may not be alone after all."

Jack nose scrunches as he peeks up at her. "Wha'?"

She taps his nose. "Agh-do you know any other word, dear?" She is smiling, happy.

He shrugs and groans in his throat. "mhm.."

She shakes him lightly. "Need de'soften those ribs of yours up, do I? So bloody stiff like wood..." Her nimble fingers dance wickedly over his tight little stomach.

Jack's growl turns to a choking giggle, mum has him wrapped so tight he cant wriggle away, he whimpers and giggles louder, till she joins in. They are happy.

 

Once she stops, she just cuddles him in the blanket and they both softly sing some pub tune till they were inturupted by a gentle rapping sound. Jack stiffens but mother tushes him before she turns.

A man is standing in the door way, he carfully removes his green ribboned top hat from his brow and eyes the two with respect. Jack stands up and his mother folds the blanket and comes to his tight fisted side.

"Who'r you an' what do'you want-?" He demanded of the intruder-

But his mother knelt down and drawing him close, she looked him seriously in the eyes.

"Jack, Mr. Jacob Westworth is the ga'ng leader of the Clinkers here in Whitechapel. He has gone and asked me fo' my our help with uniforms and sheltering, while you would run messages and deliver information for him..." She looks deep into his serious blue eyes.

Jack looked worried, glancing at the man. Why had his mother not told him this? This was more dangerous then her wandering the streets because this would bring the gangs here- he shook his head firmly.

" 'es gonna ge' us in trouble, mum..."

"-It doesnt matter now, Jack. Cause we can' just do nothing anymore-the time is past and we ha've to do somthin... thos' Bligh'ers will just as soon break in now and come for you and me and we'll nev'er see each other again, when I would rather we had someone to call to help us-and Jacob with his gang are just the sort." She cupped her long fingers around his tender face.

"This is _important,_ Jack, it's the right thing to do. Do you he'ar me?"

 

_How often the boy would come to remember this meeting...and look back at what he wished he would have done instead of agree with his dearest mother. There was so much to blame for his fate and her's that he ceased counting and drove his grief and hate into the few causes he could recall clear enough....as in he faultedly placed the blame on things he could act vengence-justice-upon._

_In the end, whose fault in truth, truly was it?_

 

-

 


	4. Teachers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Clinkers struggle desparately against the Blighters. Jack, his mother help Jacob.  
> Jack bleeds for right and bleeds for wrong, it is hard to tell what is which, his mother is not there to teach him.

-

 

Jack met the family that was moving in with them to share the flat. The rent would be halved between them but they were also more mouths to feed. A crying babe clung to its young widowed mother, whose own mother was a large, brutish sort of woman. She herself had two more daughters just nearing womanhood and a boy near Jacks age. They were quiet and harsh, and Jack's stomach twisted with an anxious wonder. The brute hag immediatly pushed his mum about, taking the head of the home not even waiting for the next morn after their first arrivel, and in the days tryed tasking her to things and demanding she do all with no hesitation. Mother's eyes hardened when the children of that horrid woman would whisper of them behind their backs and taddle on them.

But today, his mum was with Jacob. Jack was alone and trying to go to work-

"Oi, boy-" Her horrid voice called at him. A woman that ugly should not have a voice at all, it could shake the hair off a horse it was so wretched sounding but mother forbid him to speak to her. She knew right well that his temper was quick and harsh once it showed.

So he ignored the woman and pulled his patched jacket on roughly, glaring at her aweful son who glared back at him and stuck out his tongue.

"Boy-get ov'r here."

Jack pulled his cap on and jerked open the door to run but a hand pushed the door firmly shut then firmly twisted him around. He jerked away with a scowl, recieving a harsh slap across his cheek. Cheek smarting he turned his glare to her ugly eyes which were scowling at him in return.

" _You,_ will listen when I talk you hear-?"

" -'will not. You aint my mum-"

Slap.

"-And you will do what I tell you when I tell-"

"Y'ol _bag_ , wont make m-"

**Slap.**

"You little **_pig_** -"

"-Le'go o'me-Blime' bloky, _broiler.._!"

He wrenched away throwing himself to the ground. _She dont deserve to look a'him. Not even touch him-he wanted to hurt her_...he lay there, ignoring the silent scowls of the other urchin children while the sick baby started wailing from their raised voices and shouts.

The woman kicked him up, even her son twitching away from the gesture. "If you'll not do as to'ld, you won't eat then."

She scorned him having won, he glared back unafraid. Sick of him, she moved at him as if to whip him good but he made quick out the door and down the street, hearing soon after the quicker steps behind him of her little spy. Tailing probably, so he could try to do Jack's work and get his pay. The boy hardened at the thought and drove himself faster till his eyes didnt even see where his feet took him. He just ran as fast and far as he could, not caring if the boy followed him or not. He had to get that pence to bring for mother, and no son of a slobbing hag was gonna go swippin'it from him that easy!

 

-

 

The sun shone bright and warm, the streets were slicked from the late spring rain and even flowers grew by

They hadn't been able to buy seeds, a mouse had eaten the ones they had saved from the year last. Jack was not happy about it, he liked the plants and the food they grew but it could not be changed.

Jack was going to have to grow faster and work harder.

The family didn't eat as much as he had thought they would, but there were just so bloody many of them, that no matter how little they ate there was just never _enough_ food to go about. The woman made sure her children ate first and most, bulling Jack and his mother so bad Jack wished they would all get sick and die.

The boy followed Jack on his work runs and was wily with his devil tongue and vicious with his little strength. He brawled and bit and kicked and screamed and didn't care if he struck up a rucous which he knew Jack didn't want and would avoid. He was better fed and he wasn't afraid o' nothin-that got him jobs even Jack didn't dare; such as shaft crawling and vent cleaning for miners, chimney sweeping and even just plain ol' theiving but in dangerous alleys. He even tryed to steal Jack's coin once or twice, he had to beat him sound so he wouldn't try that again.

Jack hated him. They would never get along.

 

-

 

"Oi' look-" A strong hand snagged his from the throngs of people at Spitalfields market. "Looks like you've lost your mum, eh boy?"

 Jack writhed like and animal in the Blighter's clutches, screaming and scratching as loud as he could. "Le'me go!"

The red didn't care, he clutched Jack's collar and hauled him off through the market. People murmered and turned away, not wanting to be involved in that sort of business or with anything to do with the Blighters at all.

"It's off to the stee'factory for you.."

" ** _Noo_ -!**"

Jack howled and twisted about, the man grabbing a handful of his hair to keep him at bay. He wasn't going to leave his mum, leave her with nothin and no means to get anythin', with that bag and her urchin children to eat all 'er food...

He ripped and tore at the man's grasp. " ** _Le'me go!!_** "

The man tugged at him again, he couldn't get away no matter how he tryed but he wouldn't give up. The man almost had second thoughts as to whether this boy was worth all this trouble and noise as he made his way through the alleys behind the shops...

Jack screamed horrendiously intent on waking the dead, anything to get this man off 'o him, just as a shadow fell silently from on high. With a solid thump and crack, the man who had held him fell limp to the cobblestones. Jack jerked up and away, his head now free and looking up he stared at a white hooded stranger standing above him.

Jack scowled and sat there catching his breath, his scowl deep and fists clenched as he glanced over the man to see if he was gonna be the sort to cause him trouble too.

When the man pulled back his hood and nodded at him real friendly like, Jack was a bit confused but shrugged.

"Thanks..mister."

The dark skinned man smiled.

"You are most welcome. Are you hurt?"

Jack's head cocked at his foriegn accent. It was thick, not native English. It reminded him of the few railway workers he had come across before.

He shook his head eyeing the limp body by his feet. "Did you kill 'im?"

The stranger man smiled. "No worries, he is only sleeping." He extended a dark, bare hand to help him up.  
"I think you should run along while you can, the streets are not safe for children anymore, I am afraid."

Jack snorted, brushing his hand away and pushed himself to his feet.

"No place aint safe fo' no one, no more, mister, but dont go worrin'bout me. I'm alrigh'..."

He eyed the stranger up curiously, having noticed his exotic and even lavish wardrobe; clad in white and gold, immaculate and neat as if he came from some palace or somthin'. 

"I gotta get'home anyway." He bent down over the sleeping red and began rummaging around in his clothes. He looked up at the stranger as if daring him to scold him-

But the stranger only smiled, almost chuckling.

"No doubt you can use the contents of his pockets better then he could. Take care, little one."

Jack watched wide eyed as he climbed straight up the wall...using the crevices and sill's edges to easily pull himself up and away with the ease and grace of a street tabby. Jack marveled slack jawed at the strange sight-before it was gone...

Wouldn't _that_ be helpful? He thought how easy it would be to get a way from anyone who chased him or tryed to follow or spy on him. He wondered if he should try that...

Jack shook his head to leave and saw the Blighter at his feet, scoffing he spit on him. Then kicked him.

Before he cut out of the alley.

 

-

 

"Oi, Jack!"

The boy slipped to a stop and turned to the voice. It was a younger Clinker fellow waving him over from beneath the eaves of an abbey. Jack ran over to him.

"Wha?"

The green lad's dirty uniform was torn at the edges and he lookes anxious and stiff. Jack knew the green coat was a death sentence, a petition to be bathed in red. His like dressed companion keepin a close watch over the streets behind them.

"Look, lad-I need you to take this ribbon to ol' Dave Wendle-'es stayin at the Spittled Hog- you met 'im roight? Tell 'im it come from the lads way down in Westminster and 'es to tie it to Lex'ies an' 5th as a call to arms for the lads we lost there. There is going to be hell to pay, the damn cowards smoked em bloody an' they gotta pay fo' every drop."

The green looked brassed-but scared and Jack felt bad for him. Felt bad for all of em, it was getting worse and he didnt think they were gonna be able to win this.

The fellow pleaded "Can you do tha'? You see, we aint got no one else to take it...You will-wont ya?? We're counting on ya-Jacob's counting on ya..."

Jack's face pinched as he took it. Not for Jacob- he took it for his mother and the belief she had that what they were doing was the right thing. Even if it was all gonna be for nothin.

 _What if the reds found em out? What then? The very thought terrified him; that reds would bust in their door in the dead of night, light it on fire to drag them out screaming, gut them in the streets or wring their necks and twist all the secrets of the Clinkers o' of em till they begged for mercy and death_.

His stomach gripped painful and sick inside him at those thoughts but Jack nodded anyway, the message already commited to memory. He stuffed the ribbon in his tyed up slacks and took off down the street.

He ran past the poor, dirty men and woman as they troughed through the muck on their own arrends. Without a care for the man next to them, they seemed to only care about their own two feet. So many had even cast their own children out onto the street when they couldnt care for them anymore and he saw their angry lost hurt faces everyday as they crept round the waste heaps for food and shelter, begging and stealing to last another day, till they got drove to the workhouses. And no one stopped them.

The boy slid underneath carraiges and carts, teeming with greedy marketers and swindling thieves ready to drain the blood coins from Whitechapels worst off and then pass it into the Blighters waiting hands. No one stopped them.

Jack sniffled, itching his nose roughly on his cuff then froze as he saw on the street a trio of them damn reds as they held a man down on his knees.

He knew what they were doing.

They played with the knives in their hands as they were asking him about money. The man was silent, he looked so scared.

But he couldnt help 'im, he couldnt get caught-cuz 'e had to get the ribbon to Wendle. an' he couldn't try to out run them too- He was too small, couldn't climb walls or run fast enough...

Jack swallowed but couldn't turn away even though he should have. He knew his mother would have wanted him to but he couldnt take his eyes away. Even when he saw the man begged...they laughed...then they dragged the knife across his throat.

He bled and choked like a pig.

Jack watched silently, words trapped behind the clenched lips of a curious child who saw somthing he wasnt ready for. The mission of the ribbon momentarily lost as he stood there cold and sick then angry watching them drop him and wipe the blade on the man's jacket. He wanted to scream at them an-an....and do somthing to hurt them-to make them stop, to make them pay...

But he was too scared of em...too scared to do nothin'.

Jack pushed his fists agianst his eyes to make himself look away and kicked his legs to make em move too. To move away.

They weren't gonna catch him just standin here when he had to get somthing to the greens-he wasn't gonna end up bled an' dead like 'im so he promised himself that someday he would make every single red pay- with _blood,_ red for red. He swore on his mother's heart he would...someday.

Just not today...

 

_Jack found he was stuck with fear of action and fear of failure. He didn't have many means to ever seek justice immediatly after the crime, his was the way of plotting and planning retribution long after it was due, after long thought. exact proper justice when in fact it was always vengence._

_Justice and revenge to him were one and the same._

 

He swallowed hard and kept walking, his legs wobbled under him so he couldn't run but he tryed not to think about. _This 'appens ev'ryday-this 'appens ev'ryday_ \- he tryed distracting him from the solemnity of his quest was his shaggy, dirty hair blonding with all the sun on his head flopping about in his eyes. His thought was interrupted with a flash of the man's white eyes as he tryed to breathe and the way his tongue flopped around in his mouth like a fish, froze Jack up again.

He grabbed handfulls of his hair and rung them back and forth, feeling the cutting pain that made his eyes smart, trying to think of somthing-H-His hair-His hair reminded him of his mother's-that helped banish the thoughts- so thick and brown and soft. He loved it, loved to bury his face in it and wished to be just like his mother.

He wondered if he was any bit like his father at all, whoever he was.

 

Jack kept along the way and every green he met, he told them 'bout the ribbon and Westminster and Lex and 5th and that Wendle was calling the lads together. Every green hopped to it so fast that the word got there before even little Jack did. He didnt have to say a thing, the man David Wendle just asked for the ribbon quick, he gave it and watched him tie it up high on the post.

Wendle patted his shoulder. "Now run along boy, unless your bout to join the scuttle."

Jack stepped back into the doorway of shop but didn't go further as he saw the greens, dozens of them, gathering in the city square with knives and belts drawn. Some parked their borrowed carriages in a semi circle of the fight zone to bar off and protect the innocent from stray bullets and else. The rest shouted at the stander bys to 'get on' and 'move it'. But no matter their efforts a crowd began to form on all fronts of the area. A gang war, and this one looked as if they were planning for serious blood.

Jack heard the man directing the others, then  he spotted the first Blighter pacing at the opposite street corner looking on at them like a bloodied fight dog. He sneered at the greens and Jack before raising his hands to his mouth to whistle shrill and loud. A signal.

Wendle grit his teeth, and spit out his mouthful of tobacco. He groomed his young mustache clean and climbed up on top of the nearest carriage roof. Cupping his hands to his mouth he through his challenges out to their lines.

"Oi, you piss drinking cowards! Come and face us-right here and now! Green against blood-Clinker and Blighter!! Your Starrick isn't going to save your skins after what you did to our boys in Wes'Min, you hear me?! I'll drag you all to the devil's arms with me if you've got the gall in you balls to step-across-this-square!!" He drew his pistol and pointed it into the air and fired. The horse beneath him brayed and shook at the sudden noise but didnt bolt.

The Clinker boys all hooped and hollared their own challenges, spitting at the Blighter filth. The reds scowled and hollared back at them, now gathered at their end with clubs and butcher knives, pistols and belts besides. They waited till they rallied more to them and their number, looking ready to spill blood once somone made the first move.

The people in the streets already began to scream and cry, ladies weeping and fainting when torches were lit and waved roaring like demons wings.

The fires danced wild in Jack's eyes as he watched them gather and prepare for the blood and the death which was to follow. A Clinker fellow passing by pushed a knife in his hands, Jack took it, more surprised then anything as the older lad shouted a few bits of advice over his shoulder.

"Your gonna need this, lad- just remember, you gotta punch it like your fist and _dont_ let it go. Alriogh'?" He was smiling as he took his place in the ranks. He couldn'tve been more then 14 years old.

Jack looked at the knife in his hands and then back at the two crowds ready to gut each other. Jack thought of all the people the reds hurt, threatened, beaten, killed, and starved with their theivery, and remembered hating them and wanting to kill them all-

But he wasn't big enough or strong enough to actually fight. Was he? He had seen a few desparate brawls start but had always run away from them and avoided any others...

This felt like it was going to be much worse-like the man on the street-thats what the green wanted him to do to the reds; with this knife he wanted him to spill blood and stop them from breathing. Jack looked down at it in his hand and then back up at the two crowds as they inched towards each other and he felt a crippling fear that froze him still.

He didn't want to be here.

Jack turned and ran down the street. He didnt hear a shout or any cries at all, he ran so fast and far. The only thing he heard was twelve gunshots-the rest was beyond his young ears.

It was good that he ran, he didn't need to know how many poor souls died that day...

 

-

 

Mid June 1867

 

Jack's mother came home late one night with a cough and a warm head. She said she was well, just tired but Jack didnt believe her. The wretched woman had made supper already and since mother was not there to eat her share-and of course Jack refused to eat without her-she divided their portions amongst her own children, as a lesson to be on time for the meals. Jack was silent and sick rocking next to the fire the five hours he waited for his mother, twisting the knife in his hands and thinking.

Mother asked him about supper but he just shrugged, she asked again.

"Jack, dove, did she not make you any supper? Answer me." She gently peeked in the pots on the table, and the tea kettle that rested by the fireplace.

Jack shrugged again, asking her. "Have you eaten?"

She stopped, straightening her shawl about her just as a harsh cough shook her roughly.

"I had a biscuit and tea with Jacob." She said with a little difficulty, looking ill. "I..felt a little light headed, my dear, but I'm sorry. Have you eaten yet?"

He shook his head, glancing at the room that aweful family stayed in.

His mother's lovely look darkened as she glanced where he had, she approached him-coughing roughly into her sleeve again before holding his shoulders.

"Son, Jacob asked if we would move in with him. We would be able to hel-"

"-No." She seemed surprised by his serious athority. "You'r not gonna pay him anythin'-"

"-Jack, he's not askin' that-hes not like that-"

"-No, mum."

"Dove-"

"You'r not gonna be dollied no more. I'll _gut_ the next fo'cker who comes for you." He said it plain, looking right in her eyes.

His mother wasn't upset with his words, rather she looked sad, in a way Jack didn't understand. He was so afraid for his mother and what these Clinkers were going to get them in trouble for, and what they would want them to do and how they were all gonna lose in the end. There were too many Blighters, too many to face in this way-it wasn't that they couldn't it was just enough good to fight them in the open like this. If they did, they were all going to die. And he didnt want to die...

Jack was scared but tryin to be strong and brave.

"Mum...can I make you some tea?" His blue eyes lost their edge and burned into hers. So little was child in them now.

"No dear. I'll just go to bed after I make you somthin to eat." She kissed his brow and made to the cuboards, she was somber and quiet.

 

The night was long and dark, no moon or stars. Even sleeping together Jack felt so alone, like there was a dead ghost that hung over them. That night he drempt in black and white with shadows and voices and shapes. They left him stiff and shaking, images of running blood and squeeling pigs drowning in his ears till he screamed when one of the swine in his dream turned to him and screamed "coward!".

Jack opened his eyes and couldnt even remember what had woke him. Except that the bed was cold and empty, his mother up and gone again.

Jack screamed into his blankets, all his frustration and fear, his anger and hurt...

 

His mother would get sick and then recover only to fall sick again. She never told him where she was all day so he stopped asking.

 

-

 

Jacob came two weeks later in the night, tapping on the glass with his bare knuckles, glancing a peek over each shoulder. The day had been a disaster, his Clinkers suffering terrible losses and the people now so desparate that they were accepting the bribes and payouts of the reds and turning over their own over to the devils.

He rapped again when there was no answer...

And again when longer then a few minuetes had passed by..

It was a full five in waiting before the door whined open a crack and little blue eyes stared up at him from the dark.

"Let me in lad, I have to speak to your mother..." His voice he kept soft. It was dangerous to be here out at night.

The boy seemed to be well aware of that, but his care wasn't for _the man's_ safty...he didn't blame him.

"she's'sleepin." He whispered.

"It's rather important, Jack."

The boy scowled at his name, not likeing the man to use it.

"can'it wait fo' mornin'? She's'sick..."

Jacob frowned sympathetically, remembering her headaches and coughing- but he none the less but this was urgent-

"No, I'm afraid it won't wait, but I promise I wont keep her for long."

The boy hesitated as his little mind worked out the words and the man's insistance...

" _Please_ -Jack..."

The boy huffed.

"I'll wake 'er up."

The door closed in Jacob's face so he crossed his arms and waited.

 

 

_"mum?"_

She didn't move, her breath lifting and lowering hollowy her chest in the faint light from the window, the landlord snoring next to her. Jack stood next to the bed and waited but she didn't seem to have heard him. He squeezed at her shoulders gently.

"mum.."

She sighed tiredly lifting a hand to hold his.

"...hmm. what is it, dove?" She tiredly murmered, throat sore.

He lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered.  _"jacob wants to see you. 'es at the fron' do'or."_

She rose immediatly, holding back a cough, pulling her shawl about her shoulders.Careful not to wake the man, she followed Jack down the stairs and to the door.

Jacob looked anxious. "Miss-"

"-shh. Why have you come?"

"It's the Clinkers...I need you-"

"Shh, Jacob-" She looked behind her, afraid of him being heard. "Not here..."

Jack looked between them, wondering what it was they were talking about. He now saw the dirt and..blood on Jacob's face and how his hair hung limply over his forehead. His clothes were matted and torn, he looked like he had been in a brawl. The reds must'ave cornered him good and given him a lick'n...

 _What would they do to his mum or him if they found out they were helping him?_ Jack's stomack clenched tightly again.

Jacob looked beside himself "Where then?"

She doesnt even think, leaning close she whispers to him, to which he nods then disappearswith one last look into the night.

She turns to her son. "Now, Jack-"

The hag's wretched voice cuts his mum off, sleep drenched and even more horrid as her girth fills the bedroom's doorway.

She scowls sleepily at the pair demanding.

"Wha' do you both thin' your doing up at these hours with the door wide open, eh? Tryin somthin funny are we?"

His mum pushes the door closed without explaining herself. Making her way over she stoked up the small blaze to start a kettle of tea going, steadfastly ignoring the woman. The woman wattles closer, quite put out at being ignored.

"Did you not hear me you fuckin'dumb bloke?"

Jack glared murderously at her, clenching his fists. How dare she call his mother that-

His mother answers quietly but firmly, her eyes not leaving the fireplace.

"What comes between me and man ain't no' business of yours." 

The fat lady scoffed at her, snorting at the thought of her taking 'calls' at this hour. But his mum is clever and it does the trick, mMumbling somthing wretched under her breath, the wretched woman left to go back to sleep and leaving them to it. Once she returns to the room, his mother made for the door and threw her walking shawl over her narrow shoulders.

Jack has silently watched her the whole while, waiting for her to tell him what she wanted him to do, glaring at the door the woman had passed through hatefully. He couldn't hold back  his yawn, stretching widely over his face, aching in his his throat. His mother turned to him, her eyes awake and aware.

She told him where she was going and that she didn't know how long she would be, but for him not to worry and he would see her back saftly.

"Your not well enough to go out mum, let me-I'll come."

"No, dove, and you'll do as I say. The streets are being picked clean of children and I'll not have you be one of them."

He knew the Blighters were out at night always and that they would be looking for anyone to badger about the place and he didnt want his mum to be one of them. Especially with her being sick an all.

"But mum-"

"No Jack, **you'll stay."** What ever Jacob had said and needed was going to make her brave greater and greater dangers. _Doing what they have to for as long as they have to._ Jack scuffed his stockings against the floor, huffing again.

"I love you, my dove."

Jack kept his head down as she closed the door, waiting till he knew she had gone and was far enough away before he ran over and pulled his jacket on too.

He pulled his cap low and pulled on his gloves.

_'M sorry, mum._

 

He pulled the door open and followed her into the night.

 

-

 


	5. What Doing Good Gave Us...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a little difficult and took me a little bit to put together.  
> Organizing my mild canon "divergence" to account for the disorganization or confusion that resulted from Ubisoft's rather unthought through or hastely scrambled history for Jack. I look forward to your thoughts on this and thank you for all patience.  
> 

 

_

 

His mother was lost to the night but Jack knew he could find her. Carefully making his way, this night felt dark and stained with blood...Jack was scared.

His mother was working her way through the maze of shrubbery and brush that clung to the backs of the houses and the abandoned corners of the streets. He was careful to follow her quietly. He didn't want her to know he was there.

She stopped and coughed, covering her mouth with her hands, shoulders shaking from the chill of the night and her illnesss. Jack scowled, wanting to rush to her but didnt. He waited till she began to move forward again.

She didn't make it far before another cough shook her again. Jack couldn't hold himself back-but she moved on before he could show himself, scowling again he followed her soft steps as she hurried on. He had trouble following her close enough after that, it was if she was taken by a hidden urgency and hastened into the night. But he knew where she was going...and he was faster then she was.

 

_Jack didn't know why this night was different from all other nights, his instincts he had always been close to or rather grown closer to because of the ways which he had to survive in those miserable, godforsaken streets. And so this night, deep in his bones, he knew somthing was going to happen-somthing of blood and horror but he didn't know what. Or if he did, he did not have the courage to face it...he was forever a coward._

_A boy on the run._

 

Dark alley into dark street corner, cutting into the shacks of the outter skirts and beyond. The few people that where to be seen watched them, murmering. They were staring and he didnt know if she saw them too. Jack skulked after her, his belly stinging with terror for no other reason then that he knew he should not have followed...He should not have.

She led him far from home. He was never to see it again.

 

His mother walked to the graveyard, weaving between the sparse headstones and waited, twisting at her over coat, looking this way and that.

Jack felt as if there were a hundred eyes glaring at them, him and his mother. He lays his cheek against the cold cobble stone of the graveman's house, staring at his mother in the moonlight. _Why does she stand there? Where is Jacob? Why is he having her wait?_ Jacob was to meet her here-it was most urgent. _Why was he making her wait? Why does she look so scared?_

 

_Jacob Westworth had asked her here, he wanted her and Jack to flee with him and what was left of the Clinkers. All those loyal because he had given up-and did not wish to die. He felt wretched at the thought of her dissapointment, for Jack's mother was so devoted to freeing Whitechapel and was giving her life over to it-to somthing greater-that he feared he would have to leave her rather then her leave with him...He had little choice.  
_

 

-

Jacob was late-he wasn't going to make it by the ninth gong of Old Ben. If she just stayed there and waited another few minuetes, they'd be fine....

_

 

Jack's mother peered into the night around, a growing fear unsettling her. _Had somthing happened to Jacob?_ Her eyes were finding shadows and shapes that she was not sure were there-she felt a grave fear settle inside her. She had made a terrible mistake...

_The first gong of the bell sounded._

_He wasn't going to come_ , she realized, her heart dry in her chest. She should **not be here**.

The slightest rustle of winter deadened leaves confessed to her foolheartiness.

_The second gong sounded._

Her eyes roved the dark now...and she saw a shape...

Three shapes-Blighters...

_The third gong sounded._

She stepped backward and they moved forward, whistling a low tune in taunting. She stepped more quickly before another cough shook her. The reds 'tsked' at her...they knew who she was. Who else would be here in this hour after such a whipping in so public a rejection...

_The fourth gong sounded._

"Where are yeh goin, mi'lady? Seems a bit late fo' yeh to be wanderin about, this late in'n evenin'..-"

A hard little voice pierced her soul the next moment.

"-Mum..??"

_No-not her dove..._

Her eyes fell on her boy who moved forward, his steps careful-fearful. He was afraid, coming to her-

Coming for her.

"Oi , I was talkin to the sorry likes of yeh.." The Blighters were past jeering and moving forward-it was poor luck to try to out run them. Only one of them had a real chance...

Not both.

_The fifth gong sounded._

Jack ripped on her sleeve, trying to drag her, his eyes wide and white in the bright moonlight. Then she saw two more shadows alerted by the commotion...then two _more_ -

"Mum-com'on-!"

"-No Jack-!"

The men all saw Jack's sudden shouting as an attempt to escape, then made to rushing towards the pair.

_He would come-Jacob would come..._

"Mum-!"

_The sixth gong sounded._

"Jack-" She tore his grip from her and looked into his white blue eyes.

"-Dove, you _hav'to_ find him, you hear me? Find Jac-" A horrible cough interupted her-the Blighters coming upon them. She saw the devil in her son's eyes as they flashed from her to the reds-and knew for fear that he would leave her...

He was only a child...how was she to expect anything else?

"Go-"

_The seventh gong sounded._

"Go to Jacob-Run Jack!"

She shoved the boy from her loving arms-and for love drove him away from her...

And he ran.

There was nothing the boy could do and he knew it-only Jacob could save her now...

-

Jack had clung to her arm and wouldn't have let go-he couldnt! _They were gonna lynch em an hang em high-cut em up and leave em bleeding on the ground_...Jack shook and trembled not wanting to run alone...

But he did. She pushed him from her with a safe place to go-a way to save her...

And so he ran as fast as he could, crying as he did through the winding stones and darted beyond the brush and rotted picket fence.

He had never liked Jacob, a gut feeling he had never understood-

But he was their only hope now.

_Jacob. Help us-_

-

Jacob heard the tenth gong sound-panting he dragged himself to lean on the threshold of one of the last houses before the grave yard meeting place.

.. _.Almost there_. He turned the corner-but heard the sudden sound of scrabling stones and started backward believing it to be a Blighter's runner or spotter, looking for the scattered survivors of the final scuttle-

But when he heard the sobbing child, choking on his fright and tears, Jacob made for the street, limping badly. "Oi!" He called out just as the little devil shot past. The child fell at his voice, then scrabbled madly to rise, babbling. "Mister- _please._..mum...they've got'her...-"

Jacob froze-it was Jack-and that meant...

The boy gasped a spittled breath then wheezed desparately.

"-They've..they've got mi'mum _please._..sir- _please_ -"

"-Shhh lad, take me there! Now boy!" He whispered feverously and with a last gasp the boy darted off again.

Jacob followed behind, his bleeding leg shooting with sharp pain and his stomach gripping and stiff,-black and blue beneath his tattered stained white shirt-the green of his Clinkers abandoned in fear for his life.

He hobbled after the boy, already dreading that they were too late...

 

-

 

_The twelfth gong sounded._

 And Jack's mother was on her knees before the eight Blighters who had rifled through her clothes for any coraspondance or notes of any sort, any messages as to allegiance or whereabouts of the lingering Clinkers. Every red before her was stained in blood, their sneering eyes gleamed with lust for the claim to the rest of the city...

She was guilty to them for the fact that they had not yet sated their thirst for blood, they also saw her as a street girl-which should have ment nothing-but unfortunatly there were too many girls who had helped both Clinker and Blighter alike turning on one for the other like a tossed coin. And now, non were trusted on either side-best to just do away with the lot of em, they said. She replyed with silence, to them that was her conceeding to truth and so laughing, the man before her drew his butcher blade and rested it against her reedy collarbone. He looked as if he would bleed her like a pig. He said she deserved it and spit on her.

But she knew her Jack was _safe_ and so she feared no thing...

Closing her eyes, she felt the blade pull away for a single moment-deaf to their jeering words she prayed. ' _Fly, my little dove...'_

Before the eager blade pierced her through...

 

-

 

Jack tripped and skid to the muddy turf on elbows and knees, crawling breathless to his feet on the yard's edge, he looked up to the grave's center-

His mother was leaning heavily forward on her knees as a cruel red ran his blade through her again...and again.

And again and again-

And _again..._

Jack's nostrals flared and his eyes bulged with cold horror, his mouth gaping open in a **_scream_** -that was muffled sufficatingly tight behind the hand of Jacob, who snatched the boy up in terror and hid them both behind the yard's cobbled stone wall. He could hardly contain the boy _screaming _ at the top of his lungs and thrashing as if the devil had taken his soul, his fury thoughtless-mindless with shock and grief.

All the lad could do was **_scream_**   for his mother behind the clutching hand, watching in horror despite Jacob trying his best to guard his eyes from the sight...

Finally they let her bloodied body sink to the grave's carpet of weed grass and dead leaves. And Jack fell limp in Jacob's grasp-empty-Jacob's hand falling from his mouth as he sank to his own knees exhausted with the boy in his arms.

The night held it's moment's silence as they both stared helpless into the ring of redmen-and the her now pale white face bathed in blinding moonlight's grace.

His mother was dead...

And Jack was now alone.

_

 


	6. Here He Was Born

 

-

 

The disbelief of what had happened moments before his eyes seeped inside and began to churn. Young Jack sat in Jacob's loose, weak arms and for a moment all was still...

Then Jacob had to whisper-

_He didn't mean for it to sound so callous, he was only trying to do what was best..._

".. _._ Jack-come lad-she's gone now...we have to leave her.."

Jack's wiry little body grew suddenly rigid. His throat swelled painfully tight with a renewed fury that overtook the twisting emptyness and exhaustion he had been consumed with-In turn now he felt a demonic rage at the thought of just leaving the body of his mother...

On the grass soaked in blood... _How were they to know she was even completly dead...??_

The boy growls hoarsly and shoves away from Jacob, garbling harshly for his dead mother. Jacob, terrified, made to grab after him again-and the second he did the lad screamed and wailed curses at him-at Jacob-who wasn't where mother needed him- where she thought he was going to be...where he was suppose to be! Jack beat at Jacob's battered body till he released him away, to die just like his poor mother. He stood swaying weakly, watching helpless and hopelessly as the eight Blighters who had their eyes clapped to the noise sneered at the pair, and then all eight of them began to approach...

  
Unfortunatly, we know now their fates were sealed.

 

-

 

_Jack, horrified, after watching his mother slaughtered before him, ran to her body with his little knife. Trying to get to her._

_Jacob ran as well but instead tryed to get away-he didnt want to die-he didnt mean to twist Jack into a heartbroken rage by trying to get the boy to leave his mother but it was so he could get them both out of there..._

_It was the least he could have done..._

_The reds came for them both and little Jack wanted to kill them-he really did this time and meant to with all his little black heart and chipped little knife but was easily snatched up, whipped sound and dragged screaming out of the graveyard._

_Jacob tryed to escape but he was too weak and wounded from the violent scrap earlier to make it far enough fast enough. He was found, beaten, his throat cut and then hung upon a lamp post as a message on display for any other straggling Clinkers...they are disheartened into hiding._

_Jack is taken with the intention of the workhouses but is a thoughtless, wailing, screaming mess. He doesnt stop biting and scratching and roaring at anything and everyone till his throat is cracked bloody raw and too harsh for speach. He crys wordlessly for his mum again and again, the worst language he can possibly muster trapped in the limbo of his voice struck dumb. It is no suprise that when one of the brutes rung him about to make him stop and calls him street rat that another remembers that Doctor Elliotson wished as many  lab rat-"patients"- alive or dead for his 'age changing work' and future doctors in training. The thought made them laugh, especially the ones who had been bitten( they called him a little devil) and easily decided to throw him to the Assylum.  
_

 

_The rejected of society are perfect for such an institution as they are the ones who will never be missed, wanted again or looked for. And since often enough they were driven to their animal instincts with such malidies and derangments; Grief torn widows, alchoholics, the raving upstart; all were ready and waiting to be the examle of progress in this new age century. The century of invention and discovery that everyone wished to be a part of. The pursuit of medicine being-ironically-the least regulated and most abusive because enough was not yet properly understood...  
_

 

 

_And so the 31st of July, 1867, the lad was admitted-under force-to the Asylum : A poor, starved child-struck dumb and retarded from an bastarded infancy, growing wild in the most degratory conditions and pronounced mad after having been orphaned by a most horrid and unfortunate accident-and scheduled to undergo a rigorous and expirimentory set of treatments-consisting of the most modern, revelutionary techniques and methods-in the hopes that there may be yet a chance to return the boy to a life worth living. And if not, he will provide the material and means to prevent such an aweful thing from occuring in the next generaton of London's youth, by way of experimentation and example..._

 

_-_

 August 1st.

 

 Jack beat his fists on the iron door of his silent room. He had no voice but that didn't stop him from still trying to use it, even as it scraped at his ragged throat like a file over puckered blisters.

He knew she was gone- _he knew_ -

but he still tryed to hang on to her and her memory as if she were still here and alive and breathing-

 _Just the two of 'em.._.

... **not anymore**.

Alone and scared, Jack's lower lip trembled violently, hands shaking without pause. He couldn't sit down on the tiny cot or even step away from the door; he mindlessly pushed and beat against it, even trying to pry it open with the tips of his fingers. His shocked, numbed mind made him never stop moving, just keep _doing_ -he didn't understand how his body was trying to protect him from the cripple of grief and shock, he just understood it as another instinct to survive; like all the rest he had grown to know.

So Jack obeyed-his black and bloody knuckles smearing up the door and streaking his face where he wiped them. He didn't stop-not to think-not to wonder...not to _hope-_ that those reds had found that _bastard Jacob and strung him high_...

 

-

 

 _In the room beyond the coffin tight cell the boy was locked in, there is a young doctor that Director Bradford has assigned to the Lad. He is looking at the brief file of the boy and is in training. Having only assisted in actual physical treatments and never having ever attempted anything on his own, it didn't matter because_ _morality wasn't a concern. Success and production were. The boy was assigned to him for his training practices and the young man was to prove himself with the lad and enter his name into history. He truly had the potential to become one of the greatest medical officers of the decade..._

_His name is Doctor Gabriel V. Fischerburgen. Jack never remembered this after the first set of treatments..._

_He only ever knew him after, as Doctor Archer._

 

_-_

 


End file.
